


Promnised Land Shorts

by Besin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Oneshot collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 02:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin/pseuds/Besin
Summary: A compilation of the shorts, one-shots, drabbles, and Prompt Nights I've written for the Promnised Land blog.Will be updating with ten posts on a once-weekly basis until caught up with the blog.





	1. Haunting

Promnised Prompt Night #1: Haunting

  1. Adjective: Remaining in the consciousness; not quickly forgotten.
  2. Noun:  The act of a person or thing that haunts.



…

At first, Prompto thought the ghost in his pantry was a really finicky… ghost person. (Prompto didn’t want to assume pronouns when they weren’t obvious. Not even for dead people who liked to rearrange his pantry.) Pantry Ghost was nery neat. There wasn’t any better way to phrase it. Pantry ghost was neat.

But back to the finicky thing.

“Give me the salt!”

On the top shelf, the container slid quickly back, disappearing from view.

Prompto stared at the paprika. At the mostly empty pepper jar. At the whisp of something that he would have brushed off as a smudge on his glasses if he hadn’t switched to contacts.

It was a year before Prompto learned that if he held out a small, padded basket and told the ghost something like, “I’m making fish tonight. Can we make it spicy?” that the ghost would lift select spices from the shelves and place them gently in the cloth. 

Empty containers or those running low would be placed at eye level for Prompto to see.

Prompto would leave books for them in thanks, occasionally. Haunting a spice closet must be boring, after all.

It would be another year before Prompto thought to look it up; to simply google any murders in the area. That’s where the name game came in. When he started listing off names from his phone to the Pantry Ghost.

“Usual thing; move the pepper for yes, salt for no.”

The pepper grinder tapped the floor twice before settling.

“Cool. Beatrice Janewise.”

Salt.

“Junie Hardcourt.”

Salt.

“Bambi’s mom.”

A small bag of rice fell on his head.

“Alright, alright, for serious now.”

The rice was placed very carefully back on the shelf.

“Wiesława… Yeah. That was hard enough. I’m Japanese, not Polish.”

The salt tapped twice

“Ignis Scientia?”

The pepper jumped.

“IGNIS!” Prompto shouted, leaping to his feet.

The pepper rose with him.

“Ignis!” he half screamed again, hands flying up into the air as he proclaimed the name. “You’re a guy! Your name is Ignis!”

The pepper swung through the air so hard the cap came off, sending the powder flying through the pantry.

Prompto sneezed.

The paprika tapped morosely against the top shelf as Prompto brought the vacuum in a while later, nose red and running.

…

“So you’re still haunting my pantry because of unfinished business, right?” Prompto found himself asking one night. It wasn’t the first he spent in the pantry, light swinging above him as he curled against the bag of potatoes. “Huh… I guess… I guess you…” He paused, lips pursing as he realized suddenly, “You’re really the one who’s haunted, aren’t you? You just… can’t ever let whatever it is go. It just stays with you. Haunting you. Forever.”

Slowly, the pepper tapped once. Then twice.

“Were you murdered?”

Salt.

“Okay, that’s out, then…” He mused to himself for a bit, then raised his hand. “Wait, can you like… Can you leave this closet?”

The pepper shaker gave a halfhearted shake.

“Is it difficult?”

Pepper tapped twice.

“Okay, I’m… I’m gonna do something. Stay here for a bit.”

Five minutes later, he came back to the closet and motioned for Ignis to follow.

Prompto constructed a keyboard written on a large piece of cardboard in the living room, waving Ignis over, though he didn’t know where he was. “Come on, come on!” he goaded. “I know you can’t touch computers and stuff, so I figured this was as close as we could get, short of me buying a ton of letter stamps. Which I’m honestly considering right now.” He couldn’t help the smile on his face. Couldn’t help the buzz of excitement that rushed through him as the familiar little salt shaker rose, then fell. As if Ignis were trying it out. “So what is it? What’s your unfinished business?”

It took ten minutes to spell out, the salt shaker moving slowly – tiredly – across the board.

Noctis Lucis Caelum.

Prompto blinks down at it, confused. “Noctis?” he says, confused. “I go to school with him.”

Be his friend.

“If I promise to finish your unfinished business… would you… Would you promise to stick around? At least for a little while. I just… I like having you around.”

The salt began to move, but stuttered and fell in the center of the board.

A few seconds later, from the closet came a gentle tap.

Prompto found the pepper shaker on the floor, popping up and down against the carpet before falling over resolutely.

Prompto felt something lurch in his chest at the sight, and a grin fell across his lips that would remain for at least a day.

It was with this grin that he met Noctis properly, slapping his back warmly.

“We’ve known each other since elementary school,” Noctis snapped at him at one point, obviously skeptical. “What makes you want to talk to me now?”

“Well, believe it or not,” Prompto replied warmly, “a friend of yours is haunting my spice closet.”

“What?”

…

Noctis spent a lot of time at Prompto’s place.

Besides Ignis, they apparently had a lot more in common. Taste in video games being one of them. Noctis didn’t seem very put off by the fact that Ignis asked Prompto to be his friend. Didn’t seem angry or miffed.

After a year of this, Noctis asked Prompto to join the Crownsguard.

Prompto replied that he’d have to think about it. It would be a commute, and he didn’t want to leave Ignis.

Noctis didn’t quite understand. Had insisted, “His work is done, right? We really shouldn’t encourage him to stay. He needs to move on.”

Does he? Prompto almost asked. “I’ll think about it,” he said instead.

Noctis left.

Prompto went to the closet and read aloud for a bit before eventually getting to his feet and passing out in the armchair.

Half an hour later, a blanket stuck a corner out of the closet upstairs. It was slow going at first. It eased out beneath the door an inch at a time, grabbing at the carpet before eventually pulling free. It fluttered through the air after that. It whispered down the stairs barely an inch above the floor before sliding over Prompto’s feet. Over his knees. Up his front and onto his shoulders. There it settled, neat and even over the man’s body.

As Prompto’s eyes fluttered suddenly open – as his brows furrowed at the cold but somehow unmistakably intimate touch of what might have been lips against his forehead – he could have sworn for a second that he could see tanned skin, brown hair, and bright green eyes. But just as soon as it was there his vision blurred. But was it a blur? Or was it a smudge?

Ignis?

Where was he?

Prompto stared down at the blanket, and his chest twisted.

Ignis.

As Prompto eased back into his chair, clutching the blanket that felt colder in spots than it really should have been, he bit his lip and sighed. His eyes fluttered shut. Against his cheek, it came once more. The unmistakable brush of skin – cold and not quite there. More like a memory than anything. And from his chest came an ache. A pleasant sort that filled him up and make him want to cry in the best ways.

“Thanks, Iggy,” he whispered.

I love you, he didn’t say. That, he decided, could come later. Maybe. Once he figured out how he could be in love with a ghost.


	2. Sunbeam

Noun: A ray of sunlight.

…

(Note: Hope you don’t mind – my first thought was of the song Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam. Ended up touching on the intersection of religion and sexuality, and about how I felt sometimes growing up in the church.)

…

Faith wasn’t something Prompto thought about much after he was fifteen.

When he was eight he thought about it a lot. For the first decade of his life his parents had been rather adamant about attending church. About Prompto listening to testimonies and attending Sunday School with the other children. He’d never made a connection with the other kids. With the boys in their properly-fitting shirts and the girls in their modest dresses. There was no one like him there; no one with blond hair or big bellies. He was fat, but sometimes they made him feel like an elephant. Not the animal; the metaphor. The elephant no one wanted to talk about.

There was a song they would sing during a lot of classes, though – a hymn that made Prompto feel at home. “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.”

Jesus still wanted him. Even if other people didn’t, Jesus did.

Every time he went to church, he could see the distate in people’s eyes. The pity. But he knew a lot of these people were just patting themselves on the back just for treating him “decent.” Some of them were sincere, but a good deal of them weren’t. Around age ten it occurred to him that these people might not be so nice if their faith was all that kept them kind.

Jesus was kind. Jesus didn’t look at people with pity. He accepted them.

Prompto liked Jesus.

But Prompto didn’t like the church.

When he was fifteen – after he lost the weight and became friends with Noctis – he didn’t feel like he needed it any more. He stopped going to church when his parents weren’t home. Started fighting them on it on the days they were. He’d never been really religious, and it was hard to watch the kids who’d treated him with such poorly hidden distaste as children trying to be so buddy-buddy now that he’d lost the weight. He wanted to be sick.

Prompto loved Jesus, but he hated it when people tried too hard to be like him. Or at least make it look like they were trying to be like him. Sometimes that made him feel like a hypocrite. At the same time he felt like he understood it better than the churchgoers did – that Jesus was kind not for the sake of being kind, but because one cannot hope to understand another person’s life if you approach them with a heart closed to their troubles. You have to take the good without flinching at the bad. Why would God send his Son if not to understand the world of mortality? Then Prompto felt stupid. He had no clue what was going on in anyone else’s heads, let alone what God was thinking when he sent Jesus. Who was he to judge? Really? Who was he to judge?

Who was anyone to judge?

When Prompto fell in love with Noctis’ attendent, Ignis – when he was blindsided by an affection that one day just appeared – he remembered all the churchgoers that toted their bibles and would occasionally whisper, “They can’t be fully accepted by the church.”

From what he’d heard on the street and on TV, he was starting to realize this was a really mild, almost kind way to put it.

Jesus wouldn’t care, he realized that day. He loves me anyways.

Leviticus said otherwise, but Prompto had always read Leviticus as a bad guy. A cautionary tale. A story of what not to do. Leviticus was a judgemental and violent man.

Jesus did not judge. Jesus did not call to stone people. Jesus called to accept people. To heal. To be kind and understand each other.

He would be like Jesus, Prompto decided, and he would understand and accept himself.

…

Ignis, it turned out, was in love with him, too.

This was all the proof Prompto needed to know that Jesus didn’t care.

…

“You’re humming again.”

“Am I?”

Lips pressed to his cheek, and Ignis hummed a few bars. “That one.”

“Oh.”

“You sound surprised.”

Fingers sliding down the man’s exposed thigh, Prompto pressed a kiss to Ignis’ shoulder before drawing back with a laugh. “I haven’t thought of that song in a long time.”

“What is it?”

“You never went to church as a kid?”

“Of course I did. The Astrals, every Saturday.”

Prompto sighed. His toe traced circles against a boxy ankle. “I was raised in a different church. They just have one God.”

“Catholic?”

“Latter Day Saints.”

“Ah. Mormon.”

“They don’t like being called that.”

“My apologies.”

A smile. A kiss. Another whispered apology.

Fingers twisted between them as their hands slipped together.

“We don’t talk about religion much.”

“I know.”

Ignis smiled. It was a warm twist of lips. He scooted forward, dragging his nose through short blond hair. “What’s the hymn?”

“Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,“ Prompto admitted softly. “I used to really like it.”

“Sing it for me?”

“Am I a parrot now?”

Laughter danced in bright green eyes. “You don’t have to,” he teased. “It was a question.

Prompto smiled. Then, shifting onto his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he sang, voice low, “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam. To shine for him each day. In every way try to please him: at home; at school; at play.”


	3. Ice Cream

Noun: A soft frozen food made with sweetened and flavored milk fat.

…

When Prompto was fourteen he met Noctis and they became friends.

When Prompto was fifteen he starting taking photos of things aside from his weight progress.

When Prompto was sixteen he developed an allergy to dairy.

When Prompto was seventeen he developed a crush on the boy working the counter at the Ice Cream shop.

“I can’t just go in and ask him out!” Prompto snapped as Noctis attempted to push him through the front doors of the store. “He doesn’t even know who I am! I might come off as a total creep!“

“And you’ll never know unless you walk in there and let him know you exist. Come on.”

“Does he HAVE to know I exist?”

“Only if you EVER want to go on a date with him.”

“But I don’t want to go on a date! I want to live to a ripe old age and die a virgin!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I HAVE ANXIETY DON’T UNDERESTIMATE ME.”

At this point Prompto was lifted bodily from the ground and dragged through the door. It was the anxiety of mention that kept him still. Don’t draw attention, his thoughts blared in a sharp and desperate mantra. DO NOT DRAW ATTENTION.

Noctis plopped him down next to the cash register – next to The Boy Who Worked At The Ice Cream Shop like he were a particularly large garden gnome – and proceeded to point between them with a glib grin. “Prompto, Ignis. Ignis, Prompto.”

Boy Who Worked At The Ice Cream Shop – no, IGNIS – glanced between them curiously. “Is this the friend you were talking about?”

Prompto’s hands immediately flew to his face. “Noctis,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve known Iggy for, like, thirteen years.”

“I feel… so betrayed right now.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Noctis drawled. “Now open your eyes and meet him properly.”

Green eyes shifted from Noctis to Prompto.

The gaze felt heavy.

The hand he offered seemed too good to be true.

“It seems I’m missing some of this narrative,” Ignis began, voice soft and lightly accented, far deeper than Prompto had imagined. “However, it’s very nice to meet you at last, Prompto.”

Prompto fainted.


	4. Flowers

Noun

  1. The seed-bearing part of a plant, consisting of reproductive organs (stamens and carpels) that are typically surrounded by a brightly colored corolla (petals) and a green calyx (sepals).
  2. The finest individuals out of a number of people or things.



verb

  1. (Of a plant) Produce flowers; bloom.
  2. Be in or reach an optimum stage of development; develop fully and richly.



…

[ Note: If you guys haven’t already seen it, Flykiwiflyaway’s Flower Shop AU art is cute and 200% the visual setting for this. ](https://flykiwifly.tumblr.com/post/160639230648/promnis-flower-shop-au-click-for-full-details)

…

Talcott.

That was the name, Prompto decided. That was the name of the cactus.

Sitting innocuously on his register counter in their pink little pot, Talcott the cactus – round and pokey and adorable – stared up at Prompto from their little bed of sand. 

The flower shop had been slow for a while. It made a lot of sense, honestly. With Mother’s Day coming up and their sale of hanging baskets they usually bustle. But for the last two days an oppressive rain cloud had descended upon Insomnia, clouding the city and the shop’s profits.

“You wouldn’t like it out there, would you?” Prompto asked Talcott lowly. “You’d be dead in hours. Maybe days, if you really stuck it out. Sand can only do so much, my friend.”

In that moment, a bell jingled.

Head flying up, Prompto grinned widely at the man who had strode through the doors. “Hi there!”

The man was striking. Tall, with bright green eyes and hair slicked back from his face. His jaw was angular; cheekbones high. His nose appeared to have been broken at some point, the bridge wide and uneven. An umbrella fell to his side. He set it politely by the door. “Good afternoon,” the man greeted in reply. “Might I trouble you for a bit of advice?”

“Uh… What kind of advice?”

Weaving around the frankly massive fern that seemed to take up half the store sometimes, the tall man made his way to the counter with a grace Prompto could only dream of. “I’ve been attempting to grow some Lavender,” he announced. 

Prompto could listen to him talk for hours, wow, what a voice. “And?”

“It seems to be wilting.”

“Oh. Well, how do you water it.”

“Every other day,” came the even reply. “Just like the rest of my plants.”

Prompto shook his head. “See, that’s the problem. With lavender you have to wait for the soil to dry before watering. It’s not from this climate – it’s from east of Galahd. It’s more of a desert area, you know? Lavender’s kind of like a cactus that way.”

The grin to follow was pleasantly baffled. “Lavender’s like a cactus?”

With a pointed motion to Talcott, Prompto placed a finger to his lips with a smile.

An abrupt laugh.

The man flushed.

“What’s your name?” Prompto found himself asking even as his head screamed, “Don’t hit on the customer, don’t hit on the customer, DON’T HIT ON THE CUSTOMER.”

Stepping forward, the tall stranger – stranger no more, it seemed – offered his hand with a toothy smile. “Ignis.”

The smile felt rare for some reason. Prompto could feel his cheeks growing warm. “Prompto,” he rushed to reply, grabbing the man’s hand.

The shake was firm. Strong. Solid.

Did he masturbate with that hand?

NO.

BAD THOUGHT, PROMPTO.

BAD THOUGHT.

Suddenly his throat was closing up.

God, why was he such a spaz?

Ignis, thankfully, didn’t seem aquainted with the superpower that was mind reading. “You know quite a bit about plants, don’t you?”

Prompto – for lack of the ability to speak more than anything else – motioned to the store with a shrug.

Another laugh followed. “Of course. Of course.”

He could listen to that laugh forever.

Just.

Wow.

“Do I owe you anything for the consultation?”

Prompto shrugged. Miraculously, he found his voice. “Nah. Just come back and buy a spike plant or something after the sale ends and we’ll be even.”

If possible, Ignis’ smile got bigger. “It’s a date.”

As he left, Prompto had to physically restrain himself from leaping around the store, whooping and hollering.

He did a poor job.

He just hoped his boss didn’t look at the security tape because that would have been an awkward conversation


	5. Glasses

Noun

  1. A pair of lenses set in a frame resting on the nose and ears, used to correct or assist defective eyesight or protect the eyes.
  2. A pair of binoculars.



…

Ignis wasn’t expecting to wake up one day and find Prompto wearing glasses. But there they were. And there they were. And Prompto was just smiling like nothing had changed.

“I wasn’t aware you wore contacts,” was the first thing Ignis said.

Prompto had laughed. “I ran out of eyedrops,” was the simple explanation. 

Ignis dug into his bag, producing a vial for Prompto to see.

Strangely enough, Prompto looked disappointed by its procurement. “Oh, cool,” he said anyways, tone dragging as he took the bottle. “Thanks.”

…

A week later, he was wearing them again.

“Gotta let my eyes breathe,” he told Ignis when he asked.

Ignis watched as Prompto casually walked over to Noctis, patting his back and greeting him.

“Mornin’, Noct.”

“Prompto. Hey. You’re wearing glasses.”

“Trying out a new look.” This was said low – almost under his breath.

So… what? Prompto was trying to be pretty?

…

Prompto was pretty.

…

Ignis didn’t know how he’d never noticed it before. How he hand’t taken the time to appreciate the spattering of freckles against flushed cheeks and eyes a darker blue than usually seen in foreigners. How his fingers would nervously twitch against the chainsaw that he would twirl during battles – a disaster when he would wear his glasses, which would occasionally fly off his face and into the fray.

Ignis never warned him away from wearing glasses during these moments, even as he would usually race over and pick them up for the other man, planting them on his nose in an excuse to get close.

And when did he need an excuse?

…

He needed an excuse. He needed one bad.

…

Did Prompto have a crush on Noctis?

Ignis could feel his stomach clenching painfully whenever he thought this.

…

“Do you have a crush on Noctis?”

“Um… What? No, man.”

The response was far to genuine to be a lie.

But the question, much like a lot of the things Ignis did these days, was just an excuse to get close to him. To sit on the edge of the haven and look at the stars together.

“Is this about the glasses?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because everything seems to be about my glasses with you, now,” he pointed out dryly. “And, like… I kind of expected you to tell me to ditch them, seeing as I lose ‘em in battle so often. They kind of explode off my face, and I’m really nearsighted so I’m usually stuck until you get them.”

“Why do you wear them, Prompto?”

Prompto bit his lip.

“You can be honest.”

“I figured I look cuter with them on.”

“You do.”

Eyes went wide at this, staring up at Ignis with his jaw dropped and his shoulders slack. “W-What?”

Ignis tried to ignore the maelstrom that his stomach had become. “You do look cuter with them on.”

“I… 

Ignis hadn’t been paying much attention in the following few days, but one night he joined Prompto at the edge of camp and their hands were twined. Their foreheads brushed. Then, under the light of the stars and the dying shadows cast by the fire, their lips caught against one another as their glasses clacked lightly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for five years,” Prompto admitted softly, “from the moment I saw you by Noctis’ car.”

“You have?”

“Yeah.” His eyes, framed by the thick black frames, shone in the dim light. “Yeah, I have.”

In his chest, Ignis’ heart pounded like a drum.


	6. Ambiance

Noun: The character and atmosphere of a place.

…

When Prompto was five, all he knew was the orphanage. The stark white walls and the sharp bite of antiseptic in the air. Hospital corners and dirt tracked into all parts of the building;  the residents guarding their feet against nails that protruded from the odd floorboard.

…

When Prompto was ten he was adopted. His new home had accent walls and flower pots. There was a kitchen table and a place to take off your shoes. At first Prompto didn’t know how to treat the house, so he didn’t touch anything. This, apparently, was the right thing to do. As much as he liked having a place to live, and parents, he never really felt at home.

…

When Prompto was fifteen he made friends with Noctis. Noctis lived in his own place – an apartment close to their school with more clothes strewn over the floor than Prompto owned. But whenever Ignis stopped by – Noctis’ “attendant,” – the place would be spotless by the time Prompto and Noctis got back from the arcade. The laundry would be done, the walls would be washed, and there would be food simmering on the stove. Healthy food. Food that warmed him up all the way from his head to his toes.

Ignis made the apartment touchable. “Appropriate for a teenager,” he called it when Prompto pointed it out one day. It felt like a home more than anything else. He could touch the walls without worrying about the fingerprints left behind. He could make something messy in the kitchen. He could sprawl out of the floor and dance around the couch while he and Noctis put on loud music. Ignis only scolded them if they got hurt, and even then only rarely. “Yes, Mom,” Noctis would sometimes reply.

Prompto, though, had to stop himself every time Ignis did something like this. Every time he scolded Noctis for being reckless or skipping on homework or not eating his vegetables.

“You would make a good wife,” he would almost say.

He maybe had a little crush on Ignis.

…

When Prompto saw Ignis’ apartment for the first time, before anything else he walked right into the living room and proceeded to flop into the largest chair he could find. He was seventeen, and Noctis had to stop by to pick something up.

Ignis was nineteen.

Ignis was nineteen and already had a large collection of books piled onto shelves. They were neatly organized by subject and author. Many, Prompto was pleased to learn, were science-fiction paperbacks.

“You struck me as more of a Star Wars fanboy,” Ignis had noted.

Prompto had jumped, nervously gripping the Star Trek: Voyager novel to his chest like a lifeline. “I…” He cleared his throat. “No. C… Chakotay is…” He stopped there, not feeling emotionally strong enough to proclaim “my ideal man” out loud. That he identified so strongly with Seven of Nine. That the episode where she dated a hologram version of Chakotay was the light of his life and he’d rewatched it a good five times that week alone.

Ignis smiled. It was a rare thing. “He’s an excellent character.”

“He’s kind of like you.”

“I fancy myself a bit like Doctor, actually,” he redirected smoothly.

…

All Prompto could think about for the rest of the week were the episodes where Doctor had a crush on Seven of Nine.

…

When Prompto was eighteen – when he was accepted into the Crownsguard and had his own steady flow of cash – he got his own apartment. Ignis immediately volunteered to help him furnish it.

“What kind of ambiance are you going for?” he asked.

Prompto had given him a look and promptly muttered, “Gesundheit.”

“What do you want to feel when you’re here?” Ignis repeated, amused.

“Oh. Um…” He shrugged. “I want to be able to touch it, I guess. So, like… No doilies or anything like that. Stuff that has a function that won’t break if I run into it.”

What Prompto ended up with was a giant bed and metal everything.

By the time they finished putting the bed together – with the million little parts and the giant screws and settled it all on square rubber pads – it was well into the night. Prompto suggested they order take out and grab a bottle of wine from the fridge.

“You’re eighteen,” Ignis reminded him softly. “It’s illegal for you to drink wine.”

“It’s illegal for me to purchase wine,” he corrected humorously. “Besides, it’s just a little.”

“How did you get it?”

“Potatoes, potatoes.”

“How did you get it, Prompto?”

“Gladio got me some. Happy?”

Apparently this did, indeed, appease him and they headed out into the living room. Ignis called for some Wutain to be delivered and Prompto poured them a pair of glasses before collapsing into one of the multitudes of bean bags.

Prompto was very glad they’d settled on string lights in place of lamps the moment they turned on, bathing the room in a gentle orange glow. When Ignis came back into the room, he smiled. “What did you call it? Ambiance?”

Stowing his phone in his back pocket, Ignis nodded before carefully sitting in one of the bags. “Yes. What about it?”

“I like it.”

“The lights were a nice touch, yes.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping from their glasses, before the doorbell buzzed.

“That’ll be the food,” Ignis said, and then he left. He was back a bit later, holding out a container for Prompto to take. “That’ll be the noodles for you and the Egg Drop Soup for me.”

“Isn’t that just an appetiser?” Prompto asked even as Ignis popped the lid off.

Lips pursed nervously. “Honestly, I could probably eat this every day.”

“Is egg drop soup your favorite food?”

“Yes.”

Prompto grinned. “That’s so cute.”

“Cute?”

Hefting the container, Prompto set it on his knees before splitting his chopsticks and digging in.

Ignis took a cursory sip before asking, “Any good?”

“Want some?” he offered, pinching some noodles between the sticks.

A mouth was offered.

A noodle was lost.

They both bent forward, foreheads colliding painfully before they both recoiled sharply.

“My apologies.”

“Sorry!”

A beat of silence, then laughter.

“I’ll some paper towels and some cleaner,” Prompto volunteered, setting his food on the floor.

“Are you sure?” Ignis asked, setting his own food down. “Do you know which cleaner to use?”

“Yeah,” he began, rising quickly to his feet. For a second reality seemed to twist maybe sideways, and then Ignis’ hand was on his arm, steadying him.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

His face was close.

God, was he close.

Prompto shook his head. “Nah. Head rush.” Didn’t help that his heart was thundering like a storm.

Ignis stepped closer. “Are you sure?”

And as Prompto looked up, their eyes meeting suddenly, he wasn’t sure about anything. Wasn’t sure about the sky or the sea or the carpet beneath his feet. Couldn’t tell you what gravity was. Couldn’t tell you what his name was. All he could say – all he could squeak out in that tense, odd moment – was, “If you get any closer I might kiss you.”

Another silence passed between them. Then…

… a foot inched subtly closer.

Prompto twitched.

Another moment. Another long, agonizing moment.

Ignis suddenly looked bashful. “I’m sorry.” He stepped away.

“Um… What?”

“That…” He cleared his throat. “That was a joke, wasn’t it?” He didn’t sound sure.

Prompto, for lack of any other decent reply, honestly spat out, “Ignis, I’ve had a crush on you for three years.”

And then Ignis was there, hands tangling in blond hair and forehead flush to Prompto’s.

Again.

Silence.

Prompto hissed a tense, “What-”

“Kiss me?” Ignis begged suddenly.

Prompto did. They made out right where they stood. They made out against the wall. In the bean bags. And eventually they stumbled into the bedroom, fingers tangling in shirts and mouths wide, tongues tangling.

“You aren’t planning to-”

“No, no. Not yet,” Prompto whispered back as his knees hit the bed frame. “Just… Do you want to cuddle?”

Ignis’ expression warmed, and his grin was infectious. “More than anything.”

…

When Prompto was twenty, he and Ignis got a place with old oak furniture, comfy chairs, and string lights.


	7. Late

Adjective

  1. Doing something or taking place after the expected, proper, or usual time.
  2. Behind schedule, behind time.
  3. Belonging or taking place near the end of a particular time or period.
  4. No longer alive.
  5. Of recent news.



Adverb

  1. After the expected, proper, or usual time.
  2. Toward the end of a period. (Ex: 1989 was the late 1980’s.)
  3. At a time in the near future.
  4. Formerly but not now living or working in a specified place or institution.



…

“A wizard is never late,” Prompto recalled his teacher telling him multiple times. “They always arrive precisely when they mean to.”

He wasn’t a wizard, and Insomnia was far from Middle Earth, but hey.

Prompto was always late though.

Always.

Spelling bee? Late.

School? Late.

Puberty?

REALLY, REALLY LATE.

For a while his parents were worried he would ever hit five feet, but that’s not really in the foreground of this story we’re trying to tell here.

We’re here to talk about the time he was late to training for his new job when the train he was on stalled.

“No, no,” he whispered, staring out the window in utter shock. “No, no, no! I can’t be late!”

“The train won’t be stalled for too long.”

Prompto looked up.

Glasses. Kind of a sharp face. A nose that looked like it had been broken at some point.

“Uh, what?”

“These delays never last long,” came the confident reply. “No need to submit yourself to undue stress.”

“Really? Because this was the first time ever in my life I was going to be early for something, and now I’m pretty sure I’m cursed.”

The man hummed. “Cursed, huh?”

“Yeah, cursed.”

“In that case, I know a good cure for curses.”

“Yeah?”

“Close you eyes.”

Prompto did.

Something pressed against his forehead. Something cold.

“Alright. Now… open them.”

Prompto blinked. “What…”

“You’re going to be fine,” the man told him warmly as he failed to continued. “Just take a deep breath and let yourself slow down for a moment.

And Prompto did. “It’s not helping.”

“You have to keep at it.”

And he did.

Eventually, his heart stopped racing.

“What’s your name?” the man asked.

“Uh… Prompto.”

“Well Prompto, why do you think you’re late all the time?”

“Fate?” he offered weakly. “Every time I get ready, I always find something’s missing. Or I trip over something. Or my bike tire is flat. That sort of thing.”

The man nodded. “That is a bit difficult to deal with.”

And then he smiled.

And Prompto felt something wiggle in his chest.

The stranger was… actually pretty attractive.

…

It would be an entire hour before the train started moving again.

Prompto ended up chattering about cameras the entire time.

…

Flying across the practice floor, Prompto snapped into place before his instructor. “S- Sorry I’m late!” he stuttered out, hands nervously clenched at his side as he fell into a stiff bow. “I know you said last time was the last straw. There’s no excuse, I know. But-”

“You’re fine for today,” the trainer cut him off gruffly. “But just for today.”

“Uh… What?”

Walking away, the instruction called to the ground, “Alright, everyone. I’d like you all to meet your special instructor for today. Ignis, would you come in please?”

And then the door opened.

And there the stranger was.

As he passed, Ignis spared him a small grin. “Good to see you made it.”

“Uh… Yeah.”

Deep in his chest, his heart gave a light, enthusiastic flutter.

…

Prompto was never late again.


	8. Dog

Noun

A domesticated carnivorous mammal that typically has a long snout, an acute sense of smell, and a barking, howling, or whining voice. It is widely kept as a pet or for work or field sports.

Verb

To follow (someone or their movements) closely and persistently.

…

It started as a joke. As a sort of experiment – social as much as technological. When Prompto made the Dog Talker app it has been at the insistence of a friend.

“I wish I saw more dogs,” he had said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s like… I always barely miss them.”

And Prompto, who had needed an idea for his App Making class, decided it would be good for his final.

…

“So here’s how it works,” he’d began to explain a few weeks later. “There are two types of profiles - dog and human. Only the dog profiles are visible, and they turn on and off based on location, a timer, or speed. That way no one will be able to see where you live if you have a dog. It also won’t activate within a ten block radius of your home.

“It’s pretty simple to use after that. If an active dog is near you, you get a ping with its photo and location. That way you know what dog is safe to pet.”

Noctis had it downloaded in an instant. “When do you think you’ll have enough users to make it functional?”

“I don’t know. Depends on if anyone picks it up.”

…

It exploded.

…

“Two million downloads…” Prompto gasped three weeks later. He was hardly able to breathe as he looked at the counter on his phone.

Noctis laughed, barely managing to reply around the Doberman licking his face. “It’s a good and wholesome app. Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”

…

Six weeks into the app, Prompto stepped out of his compartment and got a ping. It was a higher ping than usual. The new sorting system was verbally declaring the approaching dog was his ideal type. Prompto was more of a cat man, all said and done, but when he glanced at the photo he nearly choked. He looked at the time, figured that he could spare a few minutes, and took off.

A few blocks later, there he was.

Quiet.

Fluffy.

Enormous.

The Tibetan Malamute was easily twice his size, panting happily beneath the fall son. And as Prompto turned to the owner to ask to pet him, his life changed.

Not that he would know it for another three days.

“May I pet your dog?” He asked. He glanced from the man to the fluffy, beautiful bear like dog before him. He then realized several things at once. First, the man clutched in his hand a long white cane. Second, beneath the massive layers of hair, the dog was wrapped in a vest that read “Service.” He paused. “Oh, sorry. My mistake. Just noticed the vest.”

“You can pet Archimedes if you like,” the man volunteered with a grin. “He’s far too serious to lose his composure from a few pats on the head. I even have him registered with an app so people can find him.”

Prompto blinked. “I was wondering about that.”

“I’m Ignis.” A hand was offered.

It was taken with a smile. “Prompto.”

…

The next day Prompto’s phone pinged again just as he was leaving.

And there Ignis was with Archimedes , smiling and ready with some idle chatter.

…

The day after that, Ignis was a bit further up the block, and Prompto followed them a bit.

Ignis rubbed his nose at one point.

He had a scar.

Prompto found himself thinking he looked rather dashing.

…

A week later, Prompto ran into him at the hardware store, and the cashier seemed familiar with him, helping him around the store.

Archimedes sat patiently by the door as he was led around.

“He’s much too big for these halls,” Ignis had explained warmly.

Prompto kept Archimedes company at the front as he nibbled on a twizzler, petting the dog, watching in amusement as his hand disappeared into the thick fur.

“Do you have plans after this?” Ignis asked.

“Not really,” Prompto replied.

“Would you like a coffee?”

“I’d love a coffee.”

…

Ignis liked cats, too.

…

Four days later, Prompto installed a new feature where you could favorite dogs and customize your alerts for them.

Archimedes  got a whole ringtone so Prompto would never miss them.

Him.

…

Ignis, it appeared, took online classes at Prompto’s own school.

He was surprised to see him one day in the halls, sans Archimedes, one day. Prompto had raced up immediately. “Hey. Are you a teacher or something?”

“Prompto?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not nearly old enough to be a teacher. I’m a student. Are you here on Running Start?”

“What? No! Thanks for assuming I was in high school.”

“My apologies. I assumed you were younger.”

“I’m twenty.”

“Ah.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Huh.”

…

“So you’re an English major, huh?”

“Some days, that’s a rather unfortunate yes.”

…

Ignis’ apartment was clean and miraculously not covered in dog hair.

Prompto helped him brush Archimedes for half an hour.

He figured it was kind of like a date.

…

Apparently it  _ was _ a date.

…

Ignis’ toothpaste was orange and tasted like bubblegum.


	9. Indulge

It is good to indulge some of the time, Ignis’ uncle had told him often as a child. Too often and you’ll get used to it. The hard parts in life will seem more difficult; more daunting. Indulge less and life will go from point to point smoothly. This was a rule Ignis led his life by.

Life was quiet for him. Slow paced and uneventful. Raised to be the attendant to the next King, this was a lifestyle that suited him well.

Prompto was the opposite.

The boy had a hair trigger weight gain response. Anything impacting his life – bad news, good news, even too much exercise – and his metabolism would take a dive. Any indulgence would immediately make things worse for him, whether it was healthy or not. “It kinda sucks because food is one of the only ways I can indulge,” he complained to Ignis one day. “And it’s not like I can cook anything special like you can.”

The reply was a light, “I could teach you to make a meal or two, if you like.”

Baked fish, it turned out, would be the meal in question.

…

For nearly a week leading up to the lesson Prompto kept an avid eye on Ignis, waiting for him to change his mind.

He didn’t.

…

When Prompto arrived at Ignis’ apartment the day of, there was choral music playing over the stereo. Ignis immediately moved to turn it off after greeting him at the door, only to pause as the words, “No, please, leave it on,” hung through the room.

For some reason, it seemed unnecessarily tense after that.

Prompto clapped his hands, then, grinning, and the tension was gone. “So. Let’s get to business.”

First was a honey glaze. Butter, honey, brown sugar, lemon, and salt boiled on the stove until it was a syrup. Ignis occasionally had to swat Prompto’s hand as he attempted to sneak a taste.

Next came the fish. Spraying a pan with olive oil and freshly cracked sea salt, the fillet was placed in the center of the plan, glazed on one side, and baked at 400℉.

“Flip it every ten minutes with two spatulas and add another layer of the glaze,” Ignis instructed even as he sliced carrots. “We’ll be adding these to the food processor in just a moment so make sure to keep your eye on the time.”

After the carrots were blended and placed on the stove to boil with some butter and brown sugar, they started on the asparagus. By the time an hour had passed Ignis had seen far more kitchen fires than he’d had in the last ten years. “Good work,” he praised eventually, after they had managed to plate the fish that was soft from baking.

“Really?” Prompto asked skeptically. “I nearly burned your kitchen down.”

“Why don’t you take a bite and say that again?”

So Prompto did, and while he still had the fork in his mouth he moaned a low, “Oh, Iggy, I could kiss you.”

And thus… the seed was sown.

…

Ignis couldn’t stop thinking about it; the words spinning around his head like an overexcited hamster on its wheel. “I could kiss you,” it whispered. Could he? Could Prompto kiss him? He’d never given it much thought. Never really stopped to think of relationships and kissing and sexuality. Did he even like men? Did he like women?

For weeks he watched. Thought.  _ What do I like? What is my type? _

Apparently he didn’t like men.

He also didn’t like women.

But maybe he had a thing for Prompto.

Should he pursue it? Shouldn’t he? Should he schedule another cooking lesson? Or would his time be an indulgence? Would it make his job seem harder and his days longer?

Prompto, apparently, had his own thing going on (as living people tend to do) and asked Ignis to teach him how to bake a cake for his mom’s birthday.

Ignis was powerless to say no.

…

“You’ve done well,” he praised when the cake came out of the oven.

“Well?” Prompto asked, covered from head to toe with flour. His expression was shell shocked. “How is this well?”

“It probably tastes delicious and once it’s out of the pan and cooled it will look right,” he replied warmly. “Now why don’t you run along and take a shower? I’ll find you some clothes that might fit.”

Prompto doesn’t fight it, running off to the bathroom in an attempt to not cover everything else in flour as he went.

After running a damp rag over the countertops, Ignis stepped into his bedroom to rifle through his drawers for some clothes, but by the time he arrived in the hall Prompto was peeking a damp head out of the bathroom door clad in a towel, gaze landing on him.

“Thanks,” he said as Ignis approached.

“You’re very welcome,” was the reply. But as he stepped up to the man, he paused. His eyes slid curiously over the exaggerated post Prompto had struck. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the kiss on my cheek, since you’re apparently my doting wife,” he managed through barely contained laughter.

Then, in a moment of blind bravery, Ignis stepped forward and popped a gentle kiss on Prompto’s offered cheek.

The silence to follow lasted hardly a second before pink lips parted in a teasing, “Now the other one feels left out!”

But when Ignis found himself bending forward to fulfill the teasing request, a finger slipped beneath his chin and drew his face to a waiting mouth.

_ Oh _ .

When they pulled apart, Ignis stuttered a weak, “W- We have to loosen the cake and-”

“My mom’s birthday was two months ago.” And with that he eased forward, pressing a desperate kiss to Ignis’ lips.

If this was an indulgence, life was about to get very hard.


	10. Cocophany

While Ignis was growing up, he knew in the back of his mind that Asperger’s was. Knew that it affected his development and how he reacted to things. It wasn’t comforting to be told the reason he didn’t understand some of the “social games” other kids were playing on the playground wasn’t because the games made no sense but because his brain worked different than the other children.

But really, the games they played made no  _ sense _ .

“Write the name of a boy in class on her hand,” he’d overheard the girls in class saying once. “Put it in the center of her palm and don’t look at it. If you look at it, you have to ask him out.”

But even as one by one the girls all looked at their hands, none of them asked the boy in question out. Why go to all that trouble for a game you aren’t going to finish?

It wouldn’t be until Ignis was fourteen that the jeers and the off comments and the gentle social ostracism began to take its toll. But instead of attempting to make himself like everyone else, Ignis decided to use what little power he knew he had and requested a private tutor in lieu of school. This agreed with him far better, even if people would complain he was in his own head far too much.

This, as it turned out, was a good time to suggest he accompany the Crown Prince… everywhere. He would be (apparently) compensated for his time (not that he ever checked his bank account to see specifically how much, as he was eleven.) He never found out how much he was paid until he got his own apartment.

It was… quite a lot.

He didn’t really care, because Noctis didn’t say much and was generally a quiet kid. They got along relatively well, and Noctis had a lot of questions while Ignis had a lot of answers.

When Ignis was fifteen and accompanied Noctis to his eighth grade entrance ceremony, he had to leave right away. It was the  _ noise _ . The sheer cacophony that built in his ears until he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to scream; to drown it out. He felt like he was burning.

_ Overstimulation _ , the internet claimed. Huddled in the car with his phone in his hand, Ignis realized properly for the first time in his life on a deep and personal level that his Asperger’s was more than just a word on a page or a round of therapy every other week. And so, Ignis began to carry ear plugs.

Noctis finally made a friend who wasn’t being compensated for their time upon entering High School. His name was Prompto and he was loud and energetic when Noctis was around, but the moment he was out of view Prompto would Shut Down, saying very little unless prompted.

Ignis found this soothing. So much so that after Noctis had ducked into the bathroom on one fateful evening when they were sixteen and eight respectively, he asked Prompto if he’d like to go to the library with him and Gladio sometime.

Prompto had shrugged, surprised. “I don’t know, man. It’s kinda…” His lips pursed. “... Okay.”

And so they went.

Gladio picked out a few hardbacks, Ignis raided the non-fiction section, and Prompto arrived at the table with an armful of comic books.

“Good choices,” Gladio commented, motioning to the pile.

“You read comics?” Prompto asked, surprised.

“Sometimes.”

Chatter came easily to them after that. Ignis, for the first time, felt left out. Was it that he wasn’t talking enough? But it was a library – they weren’t supposed to talk.

It felt like his chest was twisting.

Prompto. He wanted to talk to Prompto.

_ Is this a crush? _ he wondered.

_ Yes, it’s a crush _ , he realized.

Figuring he should do something about it, he started by asking Prompto over to the group; spending time with everyone in his apartment. Then, slowly, he began to suggest activities.

It was an entire year before Prompto accepted one – a movie marathon. Ignis wasn’t a fan of horror, but he’d definitely tolerate it if it meant he could sit next to Prompto for six hours.

But when Prompto arrived on his front step, wringing his hands, Ignis felt a seed of dread sprout in his stomach. By the end of the first film it had sprouted into a tree. When he stood to refill the popcorn, a few words broke through the air.

“Is this a date?”

Suddenly, he was cold. Ignis had long-since assumed people could instantly read situations. That his Asperger’s just made him work harder for it. But maybe it didn’t make you inherently different. Maybe it just made the process different. Maybe Prompto hadn’t read the moment – or had, but wasn’t sure. Either way… he didn’t know, but he guessed. “No,” Ignis replied softly. It wasn’. He just wanted him there. “Do you want it to be?”

There was no immediate reply.

“If you’re worried about my reaction, I wouldn’t be adverse to a date with you.”

Prompto plucked up at this, a smile tugging at his lips. “Can it be a date, then?”

Ignis felt a matching grin, then, as he shuffled the popcorn bowl and set it on the dining table. Then, leaning forward, he planted a small kiss on the pale forehead before him. “Alright, he began happily. “It’s a date.”


End file.
